


darkest before the dawn

by makesometime



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 22:13:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17816480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: She exhales, slow and grateful, allowing the tension to fade from her body. Her head drops back to the bed, her right leg kicking out in an attempt to determine if Brasidas still lingers beside her without having to raise the effort to look.Her heel collides with a warm calf, thick with muscle. A grunt chases the contact, as displeased and sleepy as she. In a moment there is an arm over her back and it tugs her across the bed with ease.





	darkest before the dawn

**Author's Note:**

> In response to a desperate plea on tumblr, [nightmarechild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmarechild/pseuds/nightmarechild) prompted me some beautiful prompts of which I have taken the least interesting (I'msorry) and made a vague attempt at keeping on prompt: morning sex, with liberal foreplay and pre-family story ending related angst/war issues.
> 
> I have ticked all of the boxes but some in better ways than others. Thank you again for the prompt <3
> 
> If you haven't already please check out the incredible [' _the warmth on the mountain_ '](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16587014/chapters/38871440) which is a continuing highlight in a field of extremely talented Kassidas writers - we are a lucky little niche fandom.

Kassandra awakens with a start. The sound of hooves nearby makes her pulse race, her body going still as she listens for their source. She’s slow, foggy with sleep, and angry about it.

The horses pass by and continue on, her rude awakening for nothing. A glance around the room shows momentarily unfamiliar surroundings, a small bedroom with armor stands and lamps dotted carelessly around. With a breath, sensibility returns to her. 

Brasidas’ apartment. His bed. 

The city. Where they are, in theory, safe.

She exhales, slow and grateful, allowing the tension to fade from her body. Her head drops back to the bed, her right leg kicking out in an attempt to determine if Brasidas still lingers beside her without having to raise the effort to look.

Her heel collides with a warm calf, thick with muscle. A grunt chases the contact, as displeased and sleepy as she. In a moment there is an arm over her back and it tugs her across the bed with ease. She chuckles, admiring the throatiness of the sound, before the pleasure of feeling his body slotted up against her turns that laughter into a soft moan of pleasure.

They made their way here the previous evening, worn out and frustrated by a day’s worth of battle planning made redundant in the face of new reports of the golden-armored Athenian threat. Kassandra’s inability to settle between irritation and hope at yet another breathless mention of _Deimos_ left her mute and exhausted, curled into the furs and in a fitful sleep before Brasidas could even attempt counsel.

She hums, light and airy as his beard brushes her shoulder, his cock hard against her ass. He has never pushed her for satiation in moments such as this, embarrassed by his inability to control his body after years with which to practice. 

This morning, she will have none of his bashful insistence. Turning her head to kiss his cheek, she reaches back and takes his cock in hand, stroking him as much as the awkward angle will allow. His exhale is sharp and surprised and somehow manages to be apologetic even without words.

“Kass--.”

She shushes him. He hides his smile in the soft skin of her throat, kissing and sucking with each slow rock of his hips. Her skin will be reddened and marked by the attention but it is worth it to feel him unravel, some of that Spartan tension bleeding out of him at the heathen touch of her hand.

Eventually, the hand on her stomach moves down, his position and her compliance allowing him easy access to her cunt. She’s growing wetter with every breath that tickles her jaw, every groan she draws out of him. His fingers delve between her folds, one finger slipping easily inside her as his thumb circles her clit, confident with learned expertise of her body.

She could happily never leave this bed. _Fuck_ Sparta, fuck Kosmos, her life within these four walls is untouched by pain, by spite and fools who think they know best. She would willingly deprive her homeland of their greatest general if it meant her palm painted with his eagerness, his fingers buried deep and curling within her.

Brasidas jerks and then his hand is on her wrist, her slick against her skin as he draws her hand away. As one they shift, Kassandra turning onto her back and Brasidas lifting his breadth over her, resting his weight between her pulled-up thighs. 

The early morning sun filters through, catching on the warmth of his eyes, his skin, as he rocks into her, coating himself with her slick. He turns his face into the press of her palm against his cheek, kisses the thumb that brushes his lips. 

“My heart…” She hums, if only to see humour wrinkle the skin around his eyes.

In terms of encouragement it is flawless. He sets his weight on one forearm beside her head, takes himself in hand and guides the thick length of him into her all-too-ready body. She tips her head back, offering him her throat, and groans when he indulges her with lips and teeth and tongue. 

They have long since learned the rhythm of each other’s lovemaking - gentle and loving, rough and desperate, or somewhere in between. This morning falls into the latter category, their earlier teasing tipping things squarely out of the realm of patience. 

His cock feels so much better than his (painfully talented) fingers, spearing her and stretching her and centering their pleasure on the age-old dance of willing bodies. She rocks up into his every thrust, threading her fingers with his when he seeks out her stability.

Will they ever tire of this? Of being lost in one another so completely?

Will Brasidas ever get used to feeling her clench around him, muscles clamping and urging him to fill her?

Will it ever stop being a thrill to feel him lose himself, to know that she will soon feel the hot spill of his seed within her? 

He kisses her, their teeth clashing when he misjudges the distance. Kassandra laughs, tightening the grip of her fingers when he grumbles and nudges her nose with his own. Moments when they lose their much-vaunted composure are almost the most precious.

Her orgasm creeps up on her, a sudden flood of heat in her belly preceding a shout that is muffled in the curve of his shoulder, his teeth bared against her throat once more. He barely holds on, stilling inside her as she rides out her release.

“Impressive…” 

Her voice is little more than an appreciative purr, but it’s ruined when he lifts her thighs up and drives into her so sharply that she can’t help but yelp, nails scraping down the length of his back. 

A reaction, no doubt, to the helplessness they felt yesterday, Brasidas owns the moment with such effortless command that Kassandra feels herself give over to it without question, holding him and anticipating the moment he drives them both over the edge once more.

He comes with a breathless shout of her name, grateful and exultant in equal measure. She shudders as a gentle flood of sensation chases over her skin, tingling over her scalp and down her spine. 

Brasidas breathes affirmations into the skin of her chest as he recovers, and she willingly drowns in the emotion of the moment.

When he levers himself off of her, chasing the action with a long, satisfied groan, Kassandra rolls to press her chin to his chest. She watches him come back to sense, the bleary haze of orgasm fading slow and reluctant. His fingers tangle in her hair, lips turned up into a smile for the first time in too long.

“Thank you.” He laughs softly when Kassandra screws up her nose. “Dry as it may be. My heart, you help chase off the darkness.”

He is so much better with words in moments like this. Verbose when she is stilted, charming when she is blunt. 

“You discount yourself, Brasidas. Without you...” She swallows, the open encouragement in his expression only making it harder to find the words. “Thank _you_.”

Outside, the war rages, Deimos gallivants across Hellas and Kosmos plots the downfall of all it deems unworthy. It would be easy to give into despair, to lose hope. To assume that the troubles are insurmountable. But Brasidas believes. And while she may not always share his outlook, he maintains it because of her support.

And that is almost as good.


End file.
